


It's Never Free

by Blissymbolics



Series: Charming [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Sex Work, Smoking, sex work au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/pseuds/Blissymbolics
Summary: “Do you know what the best kind of sex there is?” Roy asks teasingly.“No socks?”“Free sex.”“It’s never free.”





	It's Never Free

General Dieter never showed up for his next appointment. Roy dawdled around the apartment waiting, skimming through a book that was far more boring than the conspiracy theories cycling through his imagination.

Several days later, all the papers in Central were brimming with news of Dieter’s arrest at the hands of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Apparently the lab out in Youswell that the kid was so fixated on turned out to be a front for a smuggling operation. The facility was receiving regular shipments of Xingese opium from across the desert, and supposedly Dieter was orchestrating the entire enterprise.

But Edward also mentioned something about Ishvalan graves being vandalized in the region. That seemed to be a critical aspect of his inquiry. Roy read through every article he could find, but came across no mention of any grave robbing.

Roy’s not stupid enough to think that Dieter was really single-handedly coordinating a large-scale narcotics operation right under the military’s nose. In a government funded facility no less. And he doubts that the journalists putting out the articles are stupid enough to believe so too.

He still has the kid’s contact information. He could reach out and ask for answers, but he knows that would be a step too far. They’ve only interacted once, and he doesn’t want to endanger the modicum of trust they’ve managed to cultivate.

Besides, he doesn’t want to taint the kid’s memory of his first time by asking for more in return.

He just wants to satisfy his own curiosity.

But who knows? Maybe the kid will reach out first.

* * *

“You can afford to take a night off.”

“No, Hughes, I really can’t.”

Roy presses the phone between his ear and shoulder as he reaches down to extract a cigarette.

“You can’t be that destitute. We’re eating at seven and we’ll have you back at work by nine. How many customers does the bar really get before that? Gracia’s cooking will more than cover whatever you'll lose in tips. Besides, it’s a Wednesday. Not exactly your busiest night.”

Roy can’t help but smile at Hughes’ naivety. It’s borderline absurd that Roy has been working as an escort for a decade now and Hughes still thinks that he’s been working as a bartender this entire time.

It wasn’t a complete lie originally. He was doing more bartending and bookkeeping than actual fucking back when he first started out. But he hasn’t served a cocktail in well over seven years, except on the nights when Chris desperately needs him to cover for a no-call no-show.

Roy flicks his lighter, waiting for the tip of his cigarette to glow red.

“Fine. Two hours, but that’s it. On the condition that you don’t ask a single question about my dating life. And that includes trying to hook me up with your single coworkers.”

“You sure? Because we just got a new girl in R&D who bartends on the weekends. She–”

“I’ll see you Wednesday.”

With that, he hangs up the phone, feeling his tension drain away with the cigarette smoke.

He’s technically not supposed to be smoking. It stains his teeth and makes his fingers smell. It leeches into his clothes and is overall one of the worst habits one can acquire.

Yet it’s something of a necessity for his line of work, as most of his clients smoke, and they tend to get offended or embarrassed if he doesn’t join them. And yet these are the same men who will complain about the taste of smoke on his tongue.

They’ll grumble that it’s low-class. Unclean.

Bastards. All of them.

* * *

He arrives at Hughes’ apartment fashionably late with a box of pastries from the bakery near his apartment. He knew before even walking out the door that he was going to be late, so he decided to pick up something sweet along the way to soften the blow.

Elicia answers the door wearing a checkered yellow dress that’s fraying around the hem. Apparently it’s one of only three outfits that she’ll wear without complaint, and Roy doesn’t want to be there for the day when she inevitably outgrows them all.

“Welcome. Is that food? I’ll take it to the kitchen.”

She stretches out her arms, making it clear that it’s not a request, but a demand.

“Alright. Thank you.”

Roy lowers the box into her outstretched hands, watching it wobble a bit as she finds the balance point.

“Take your shoes off,” she commands. “Yesterday, daddy didn’t take his shoes off, and I found a _bug _on the carpet. It was missing at least three legs, but it was still _moving. _It was _gross. _So there are no shoes allowed now. You can wear socks though. That’s okay.”

With that, she spins around sharply so that her dress will twirl as she struts off in the direction of the kitchen.

Roy obediently removes his shoes and sets them down on the mat beside the door. But just as he’s about to head down the hall towards the living room, another pair of shoes catch his eye:

A pair of sturdy leather boots. Fairly small, but clearly belonging to an adult.

They seem familiar, but he can’t place the memory. They can’t belong to anyone in this household, but Hughes didn’t mention inviting anyone else.

But sure enough, a second later, he hears a familiar voice coming from the living room. A young male voice, rough yet strangely lyrical. A voice that he distinctively remembers whimpering in his sheets.

Roy bravely makes his way down the hall and turns the corner into the living room. And there he is, clothed in almost the exact same outfit he wore the night he barged into Roy’s apartment.

He raises his eyes when Roy enters, and perfectly on cue, his entire face blooms with shock and confusion.

Roy does his best to keep his own mask in place, but unfortunately his attempt to remain aloof translates into sporadically shifting his eyes to every alternative area of the room, darting from the lamp to the window to the rug, doing his best to avoid Edward entirely.

He tries to sort out the puzzle pieces in his head. Determine how and why the universe conspired to put them in this situation.

“Roy, glad you made it!” Hughes exclaims, emerging from the kitchen. “Let me introduce you, although I’m sure you already know who these two are.” He gestures to shell-shocked Edward and the large suit of armor at his side, who Roy recognizes as his younger brother, although he looks far bigger in person than in his photographs.

“Roy, this is Edward and Alphonse Elric. Ed and Al, this is my friend Roy.”

Roy musters a polite smile, but it probably looks just as awkward as when a stranger smiles at you on the street.

“Nice to meet you,” Alphonse says, the soft echo from his armor more jarring than Roy anticipated.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Roy replies, his gaze finally drifting towards Edward, who quickly averts his eyes.

“The boys just got back from cleaning up that mess with General Dieter out east. I ran into them at HQ and invited them to join us. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Roy’s not sure where he’s supposed to look. He’s never in his life been so self-conscious over where to rest his eyes.

“No, not at all.”

Just two hours, he repeats to himself.

Thankfully, Gracia leans out of the kitchen not two minutes later to announce that dinner is ready.

Roy helps quickly set the table, hoping that being as helpful as possible will speed this night along.

Gracia then gives Elicia permission to retire to her room, as the main course of the evening is meatloaf with diced onions laced in the beef, and she adamantly refuses to so much as sniff anything that contains onions. So her parents made her a dinner of plain pasta an hour earlier and told her they’d call her out for dessert.

Hughes keeps saying that kids get easier as they get older, but Elicia is six now and seems more difficult than ever.

“So Roy, what do you do?” Alphonse asks from across the table, his plate completely empty, which Roy knows better than to inquire about.

Before Roy can answer with his default lie, Hughes speaks up.

“He works in a bar. On the bad side of town.”

Roy clenches his fork a bit tight.

“Yes, the bad side of town. Also known as the neighborhood ten blocks from here where the rent is twenty percent higher.”

“He works in a lovely establishment,” Gracia says, probably sensing the tension. “We visited once several years ago. We’d go more often, but it’s difficult to find time with Elicia.”

Roy smiles down at his plate. He's honestly glad they have that excuse. The first time they came, they felt so out of place it was practically comical. Roy took the night off just so he could work the bar, and spent the entire time anxiously waiting for them to slot the pieces together.

He was certain that their friendship was going to end that very night, but to his surprise, they kept inviting him over for dinner. At first he was relieved and even cautiously excited by their newfound open-mindedness, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that they genuinely didn’t see past the veil of the establishment he served. And at this point, it would be far too awkward to tell them the truth.

“So how did you meet then?” Alphonse asks. Roy has to give the kid credit. He knows how to keep a conversation moving.

“Military Academy,” Hughes answers. “We enlisted at the same time.”

“I only served for three years though. Left as soon as my contract was up.”

“Don’t blame ya’,” Ed says through bites of potato, staring at Roy from across the table. “You had the right idea.”

“Ed’s quite the budding anarchist,” Hughes laughs.

“Hey, don’t think for a second that I’m staying any longer than I need to. Who knows, I could end up working in a bar too. Are you hiring?”

Roy eyes him sharply, silently imploring him not to blow their cover.

“You have any experience?”

He quickly realizes that he asked Edward almost the exact same question a month ago, except under very different circumstances. Edward doesn’t seem to make the connection though, which Roy is thankful for.

“I can transmute liquids into steam with a clap of my hands. I bet I could pull some cool party tricks with that.”

“Send me a copy of your resume and I’ll think about it.”

“No way,” Hughes interjects. “You’re not corrupting him like that.”

Roy can barely contain a laugh. If only Hughes knew.

“You must like it though,” Ed says. “If you’ve been doing it so long.”

Roy’s hands freeze in the middle of cutting his meat. It suddenly occurs to him that the kid might not be playing anymore.

Is he genuinely asking if Roy likes his work? Is he really considering going down that path himself?

The truth is that Roy is contractually obligated to pretend that he likes it. To act like the money is just a pleasant bonus while the sex itself is his preferred method of payment. But honestly, the sex is usually the least enjoyable aspect of his job, and he’s certainly not alone in that opinion.

Did he enjoy his night with Edward? Yes, but that was an anomaly. The exception that proves the rule.

“Yes, I do like it,” he finally answers, and resumes cutting his meat.

“You’re dragging people down into an early grave,” Hughes remarks. His tone is jovial, but for some reason, it pushes the wrong vein in Roy’s head.

“It’s better than still being in the military and literally putting people into early graves.”

The table goes quiet. The sound of clattering silverware coming to a standstill. After several second of waiting for his chair to start sinking into the floor, Edward lets out a soft laugh.

“I like you.”

* * *

Roy lights a cigarette the second he steps out onto the street.

Why does he keep doing this to himself?

He’s dabbled in the kinkiest shit imaginable over the last ten years, and yet these dinners are the most brutal form of masochism he’s ever endured.

Why does he bother keeping up this act? He should just come clean and tell Hughes the truth. He’ll probably never get another invite ever again, but maybe that’d be the easiest way out. It’d be a clean break, and then he could seek out some friends who don’t give him traumatic flashbacks to the family dinners he never had.

“Hey! Roy!”

He flinches at the sound of his name, quickly turning back to see Edward darting up the sidewalk.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just,” he pauses to catch his breath. “I told Al I forgot my wallet at the library and had to run and pick it up before they close.”

“They’re not closed already?”

“It’s exam season. On weekdays they’re open ’til eleven.”

“How much time you think that’ll buy you?”

He shrugs. “I also told him I had to pick up some bread from the store. I’d say I got a good forty-five minutes. Can I walk with you?”

“Be my guest. I’m just heading back to the bar.”

“Right. The bar. Where you work full-time and earn a tidy living off the backs of alcoholics.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been on the backs of _many _alcoholics.”

Edward lets out a snort, and Roy can’t help but feel a hint of pride for making him laugh.

They walk together past the rows of houses as Roy tries to come up with something to say apart from remarking on the weather.

“You know,” Edward hums, “when Hughes said that his friend Roy was joining us for dinner, it didn’t occur to me for a second that you might be the same Roy.”

“I told you it was generic enough to let me get by.”

“Hiding in plain sight. I like it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it hiding.”

“You’re clearly hiding it from Hughes.”

Roy takes another drag of his cigarette, even though he really shouldn’t be smoking in front of Ed; but he figures that tossing it in the gutter would be just as bad an influence.

“Hughes has his opinions. Some very strong opinions.”

“Care to elaborate? Don’t worry, I’m on your side. His whole family-friendly domestic bliss schtick has been giving me cavities.”

Roy laughs under his breath.

He really shouldn’t be giving Ed any ammunition. The kid has to work with Hughes on a regular basis, and he doesn’t want him spreading rumors around Central Command. It’s already obvious that he sees Roy as a role model, which is the last thing he should be encouraging. But can he help it that kids are just so damn impressionable?

“Well, for one, he thinks prostitution should be illegal. He’s felt that way for as long as I’ve known him. When we were in the Academy together, he once snitched on a group of guys who went out to a brothel past curfew. Nearly got them all expelled and thought he deserved a merit badge for it.”

Maybe that’s too harsh. Hughes was moping under the guilt for several days after. But still, Roy was never able to forgive him for that betrayal. He could care less about the boys who got a sharp reprimand and sent on their way, but he’ll never forget the hurt he felt when Hughes suggested that the military should shut down the brothel since it was clearly causing so much trouble.

“Ouch. So, why are you still friends with him?”

That’s honestly a very good question. One that Roy has been mulling over for the last ten years.

“Because trying to make new friends in your thirties is a worse chore than shopping for new salt shakers.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy. He’s a good dad. But it can be tough. Trying to find people outside my orbit who think I’m worthy of respect.”

“You think Hughes would stop respecting you if he found out?”

Roy is afraid to answer that question honestly.

“If he ever found out… then I’d finally have a chance to brag over the fact that I make more than him.”

Ed gives a short laugh. “You probably work a fraction of the hours too.”

“Yeah, it’s a decent gig.”

“Sounds like it. You think I could make a living at it?”

“Are you kidding? You’d have a waitlist longer than Central University. But seriously, don’t get into it.”

“That’s hypocritical. Why not?”

_Why not? _Where does Roy even begin?

“Well, there’s the constant stress of getting tested for infections. Fear of violence, threats of exposure, stalking, all the usual.”

“Meh, that’s honestly less stressful than the shit I do for my job right now.”

“Fair point. But what I do… it’s a job, but it’s not a career. There’s no future. You can’t put it on your resume. And if the wrong people find out, you’ll be blackballed from _everything._ Schools, jobs, housing, restaurant reservations, everything. And of course, you can’t keep it up forever. And once you leave, you have to start all over.”

_And a lot of people can’t leave, _Roy almost says. They can’t leave because of addictions, police records, and children. Because they can’t afford to give up the steady cash flow in favor of a normal job that pays half as much because they entered the workforce a decade too late.

And many of them die before they can find an opportunity to escape.

“That’s bleak,” Ed groans, kicking a stray can. “So why the hell are you still doing it?”

“Because the woman who runs the business is my adoptive mother. And as her only legal heir, I’ll be inheriting it once she retires. Which should be in the next couple years or so. But believe me, I never would’ve gotten into this line of work if I didn’t know for a fact that I’d have a business waiting for me at the end of it.”

Honestly, he could never imagine working for someone other than Chris. He’s certainly a beneficiary of nepotism in that regard. She's always vetted his clients with far more than a cursory check, and she never assigns him anyone who rubs her the wrong way. She trained him in how to diffuse hostile situations and kept a sharp eye on him in the early days to ensure that he didn’t fall into addiction like so many of the others do. She lets him take nights off when he’s sick and even gives him a decent salary for the additional work he does on the management side of things.

He was spoiled. More spoiled than Elicia if he’s being honest.

And in addition, he doesn’t have to deal with the brutal reality of misogyny. That’s a privilege he’s always been guiltily grateful for. At least once a month news will circulate of a call girl found murdered in this hotel or that, bruises around her neck or stab wounds to her sternum.

As an uptown establishment with a high security presence, they fortunately haven’t had any deadly incidents in over seven years. But it’s not uncommon in the slightest for men to be forcibly removed while the girls press ice against their cheeks.

That’s not to say that Roy doesn’t deal with troublesome clients of his own. Fortunately, he’s managed to cultivate a steady clientele of mild-mannered individuals, but he’s been on the receiving end of verbal assault and violence probably more times than most men in the military face. The only benefit is that closeted men generally have more to lose, so they’re often more restrained in the damage they’re willing to inflict.

But still, every month or so Roy will find himself overwhelmed with an unquenchable urge to tell the world about these men. Tell their employers, their spouses, their children. Destroy their lives and laugh in their faces when they come to kill him.

But he knows that pulling a stunt like that would be a death blow to his career, and the business at large. So for now, he quietly endures it and finds comfort in drafting out the memoir he’ll publish on his death bed.

Just two more years. Chris is planning to retire at seventy, and then he’ll never have to fuck another soul if he doesn't want to. What a novel experience that will be.

Ed keeps pace at his side. Kicking up bits of snow along the way.

“So in a couple years you’ll be hanging up your condoms and becoming a pimp?”

Roy can’t help but let out a laugh. “The technical term is _procurer. _By the way, I meant to ask, what went down with Dieter exactly?”

He hopes that Ed will catch on that he wants to change the subject.

“Oh yeah, that guy. Well, the lab had nothing to do with human transmutation _or _cancer research. It’s pretty much what all the papers said. Except they conveniently omitted the fact that there were six other generals all getting a cut of the profits. Dieter was really just the runner, but the others decided to toss him to the sharks and give him fifty to life.”

“Are you going to go after them?”

“What’d be the point? I don’t have any proof. Besides, I shut down their precious cartel and cost them all a heap of cash and their own personal stash. That’s enough of a win for me. I’ll get ‘em all later down the line.”

Roy smiles, and has a sudden urge to hold the kid’s hand. It seems like they’re both in the same boat. Sitting on a well of information that could tear down the world, but instead they have to bite their tongues because they know that telling the truth would mean throwing their lives away. Probably for nothing since their targets would undoubtedly walk free.

Occasionally Roy will have episodes where he regrets leaving the military. But then he’ll remember that not once on the job has he been forced to take responsibility for someone’s death, directly or indirectly, and he wonders how many people in the military can say the same.

“And the Ishvalan graves?” Roy asks.

“Oh yeah, those. Turned out to be completely unrelated. Some Ishvalan refugees from the region were digging up some of the mass graves so they could give the bodies proper funeral rites. I covered for them, but told them they really needed to be more careful.”

Roy nods. So everything fell into place after all.

“So I’m guessing you didn’t find what you were looking for?” Roy asks cautiously, remembering how skittish Ed was about the subject the last time they spoke.

Fortunately, Ed just shrugs. “There’s always another lead. I’ll find the right one eventually.”

They walk in silence for a while longer, and Roy weighs the pros and cons of pressing Ed for more information.

How can he communicate that he has no intention of using the information against him? He just genuinely wants to know.

He wants to know what could be important enough to compel Ed to stay in the military despite his obvious disdain for it. Why he decided to enlist as a State Alchemist despite the unforgivable deeds they were ordered to carry out in Ishval.

Roy hasn’t regularly practiced alchemy in almost twelve years, but he knows that Ed’s interest in human transmutation could one day be his death warrant.

He wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with his brother. His seventeen-year-old brother who's been seven feet tall for the last six years and has never once been spotted outside his suit of armor. It doesn’t take a genius to surmise that the boys meddled in something they weren’t supposed to, and were severely afflicted as a result. And now Edward is investigating human transmutation in the hope that it will help his brother in some shape or form.

Hughes probably knows all this too. And the military at large. After this long, how could they not?

“Is this the bar?” Ed asks, pointing to the softly lit sign a few meters in front of them.

“Yeah,” Roy nods. “You can come in for a drink if you like.”

“I better not. I should just get my loaf of bread and head back to the dorms before Al sends out a search party.”

They’re practically standing in front of the entrance now. Roy pauses on the sidewalk, awkwardly shifting a bit, surprised by how much he's enjoyed the kid’s company.

“What did you tell your brother about the night you were with me?”

In the faint light, Roy can see him shuffle as he lowers his eyes.

“Said you were busy until three in the morning and I hung out at the bar ’til then. Waiting for you.”

Roy smiles. “Clever.”

“Not really. I’m shit at lying to him.”

They fall into silence once again, kicking their feet, delaying their inevitable separation.

But just as Roy opens his mouth to say goodbye, Edward speaks up.

“Hey, can I see you again sometime?” His sentence ends on a stutter, and Roy swears that his cheeks are red from more than the cold.

“Casually or professionally?”

“Both. Ideally,” he says with a nervous laugh.

Roy buries his hands deeper into his pockets. It’s strange, he was expecting, even hoping that Edward would ask to come back at some point. But looking at him now, beaming with hope and nerves, Roy feels a pang of guilt in his weathered husk of a heart.

“I’m not gonna turn you down, but in all honesty, you of all people really shouldn’t be paying for it. I know finding sex can be hard work, but after you’ve done it once, it gets easier to find it again.”

“So what, I should just start looking under rocks or some shit?”

“Well, you’re eighteen, gainfully employed, and not bad to look at. I’m sure you already have a lot of people gravitating towards you. Just find someone you like and make your intentions clear.”

“Can’t I just give you four hundred thousand and skip all that?” he asks with a forced smile, his tone breaking midway through.

Fuck, Roy will rot in hell if he makes this kid cry.

He pauses, breathes in the cold air, tries to sort out what exactly he’s trying to accomplish. Why is he pushing Edward away? It’s not his place to turn down clients for their own well-being. When he was a bartender he had no right to pick and choose his customers, even if they were on their last cenz and had nothing left to bring home to their families.

But Edward is a child. No matter how tough he acts, he’s still as impressionable as a ball of clay. His personality is changing on a daily basis. He’s forming attachments and making associations, impersonating those he likes and grappling with the behemoth of sex on top of it all.

Roy may seem like a safe alternative to the minefield of dating and relationships, but Roy also fears that with enough exposure Edward might grow too attached, and Roy really doesn’t want the responsibility of giving him his first heartbreak.

“Do you know what the best kind of sex there is?” Roy asks teasingly.

“No socks?”

“Free sex.”

“It’s never free.”

“No, you’re right. In fact, I just heard about this heinous new form of prostitution where you trade sex in exchange for sex.”

Thankfully, Ed lets out a weak laugh, but Roy can still see the disappointment weighing him down.

“Besides,” Roy continues, “do you know how many loaves of bread you could buy for four hundred thousand cenz? I don’t want to bleed you dry.”

“I get paid way more than I can spend. And I never buy anything since I’m always on the road anyway. Hell, I write off all my meals as travel expenses. Do you not like me? Is that why you’re trying to talk me out of it?”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Roy tries to backtrack, hoping that Ed will believe him. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Ed lets out a dramatic huff as he rolls his eyes.

“No, don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m being serious.”

Fuck, why did he walk himself into this? He’s shit at imparting advice, and he doesn’t have any sage wisdom that the kid can keep in his pocket. And honestly, being rejected by a prostitute is probably a lethal blow to his adolescent self-esteem.

“Do you know what I do?” Roy asks. “I enable people to be lazy. I’m an outlet for men to cheat on their wives so they don’t have to go through the mess of divorce. Sometimes people come to me when they should really be going to a therapist instead. I’m a shortcut. A way for people to bypass the hard work of actually earning someone’s affections. And don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being lazy once in a while. Or feeling lonely and touch-starved and just wanting some form of relief. But it can easily turn into a crutch. Easier than people think. People grow dependent on me. And when I pull away, they can have a difficult time standing on their own.”

_And sometimes, they take it out on me._

He leaves that part unsaid.

“You’re afraid I’ll get addicted to you. Is that it? You’re awfully full of yourself,” he says with a facetious smile.

“Let me ask you this. Is it really sex you want? Or is it me? Because if it’s sex you’re after, I can give you no shortage of recommendations. But if you want either me, or no one at all, then we may potentially have a problem.”

Roy already knows the answer to that question, and he feels guilty for backing the kid into a corner.

Fuck, why did he think this was a good idea? He should’ve just stayed off his high horse and booked the kid an appointment. They could’ve had something easy and simple. Besides, Edward is exactly the type of client Roy ought to be bending over backwards for. Someone young and inexperienced. Loyal and rich. A blank canvas begging to be painted. A beautiful creature willing to trust Roy with his body and heart.

But that’s just the thing. Roy can’t afford to accept such a liability. He’s received too many confessions. Too many gifts. Too many anxious nights of trying to escape the vengeance and violence of men who finally realized that Roy would never reciprocate the love they were trying to give him. He’s exhausted of pretending to be the perfect companion. Changing his identity multiple times a day. Lying to the point where he’s not even sure if he has a real personality buried under his disguises.

And truthfully, he does care about the kid. He’s already lost so much of his childhood, and Roy doesn’t want him to wind up stunted in his relationships as well.

He’s just about to mutter a weak apology and walk inside, but before he can even part his lips, Edward leans forward to kiss him, quick and sudden, not enough time for Roy to decide if he should reciprocate it or push him away.

After Edward withdraws, there’s a beat of silence. Roy tries to process what just happened, while Ed stands there with a cheeky, yet sad smile on his face.

“Do I have to pay you for that too?”

Roy lets out a soft laugh, then raises a hand to cradle Ed’s cheek, cold as ice against his palm.

“You’re cute.” He grazes his thumb across his cheekbone, wondering how catastrophic it would be if he leaned in for another kiss.

But he restrains himself. Because one of them has to be an adult. One of them has to make the hard decisions.

“Take care, Ed.”

With that, he lets his hand fall away, his fingertips brushing against his skin as he draws away.

“Seriously though, come by the bar sometime. I’ll buy you a drink.”

He takes several steps backwards until he reaches the door. He presses against the handle, nearly makes it inside, but then Edward calls out:

“I cost you a client. Isn’t it only fair that I replace him?”

Roy stops in place to smile back at him, caught between the warmth of the bar and the chill of the street.

“Give my manager a call. We’ll see.”

With that, he steps inside and lets the door fall shut.

**Author's Note:**

> I only managed to finish four pieces for Royed Week, but I'm pretty happy with them all. I wrote 67.4k words in total and 15.5k published words, so I'm pretty happy with that.
> 
> Please let me know if you'd like me to continue with this series, and if you're interested I'd really appreciate it if you subscribed to my profile.
> 
> Thanks for a great week!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/blissymbolics1) / [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/blissymbolics)


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